


Tethered

by twss



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Age Difference, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Daddy Issues, Daddy Kink, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dom/sub, Explicit Sexual Content, Father/Son Incest, Gay Sex, Incest, Knotting, M/M, Mating Bites, One Shot, Oral Sex, Post-Coital Cuddling, Praise Kink, Serial Killers, Shameless Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-03-26
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:01:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23335045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twss/pseuds/twss
Summary: Being an omega gives Malcolm... desires.
Relationships: Malcolm Bright/Martin Whitly
Comments: 6
Kudos: 130





	Tethered

**Author's Note:**

> This is the type of filth that happens when you can't leave your house or see any human beings for a month.  
> You're welcome.

It started when he was seventeen. That’s when he presented. It made him angry. Being an omega was just another way he could be taken advantage of and labeled as weak. He wasn’t just the kid with a murderous father, night terrors, and no friends. That wasn’t enough; now he was an omega too. 

He had attributed his first dream to the new flood of hormones and changes in his body. In that dream his father had penetrated him hard and fast. It meant nothing that it was Martin. He was simply the only alpha who was important in his life and was taken from him at a tender age. 

After the fifth dream, he stopped attributing it to his first presentation. He immediately started taking suppressants. The last thing he needed was a week-long heat interfering with his studies. He bought the scent blockers the first time he was to see Martin after presenting. After his dreams, he couldn’t bear for Martin to know his designation. He didn’t want to see the look on his face when his father got his first whiff of him. He knew everything would change in that moment. Martin would start looking at him like a piece of meat (it was merely a chemical reaction) and although the idea of that was horrifically pleasing, he wanted his attention on their intellectual discussions. _Would Martin like his scent?_ Now that wasn’t a productive thought. He didn’t want his father to think less of him. They were becoming equals in knowledge, not that Malcolm would ever hope to know as much as his father, but he could easily keep a conversation stimulating enough for Martin, not always an easy feat. He knew Dr. Whitly would feel an even bigger sense of authority over Malcolm. He’d always see him as someone in need of coddling and soothing. The annoying part was that Malcolm _liked_ his coddling. He did know how to soothe him, with a skillfulness no one else could hold a candle to. Nevertheless, he wanted nothing more than to distinguish himself from the man. He knew he’d never make a good profiler otherwise. Sometimes he wished himself an alpha, finally an equal adversary for the doctor. But he knew, even if he were an alpha, there’d never be an equal adversary for that man in the whole world. 

Once Malcolm had moved to college, his designation became easier to deal with. He no longer saw his father, only on rare occasions or phone calls for homework help, but those didn’t count. It was that one fateful day his senior year that changed everything. The last day he saw his father for ten years. 

Malcolm had made the decision to join the FBI and he tried to hide his excitement. He couldn’t wait to tell his father. Had he analyzed himself he’d say it was because he craved his approval and validation but he’d never liked analyzing himself when it came to feelings about Martin. Maybe it was the nervous fluttering excitement that made him forget his scent blockers that day. Or maybe it was always supposed to happen that way and there was no way to escape it. He had never forgotten in the past. Not once. But there’s a first time for everything.

He realized it the moment the cell door had opened and Martin’s head jerked up. Too fast for it to be in response to the noise he would have already been expecting. The way his eyes darted all over Malcolm’s body was confirmation. He couldn’t run out now; it was too late and his father knew. He had figured it would happen someday although he hoped it wouldn’t. Just not so soon and not on a day with such important news. He couldn’t run away without telling him. Mr. David had closed the door, sealing his fate.

“Malcolm,” he said, “you’re not a Beta.” It wasn’t a question so much as it was a statement. Martin had stood up and was eyeing his son with amazement. Malcolm briefly noted how Martin’s nostrils were flaring. _Yup, he was scenting him._ He tried not to wonder what he thought. Something about being scented by his alpha father was humiliating. 

“Yes, now that we’ve gotten that out of the way there’s something I want to talk about,” Malcolm stated quickly. 

“We haven’t got anything out of the way, Malcolm! Why didn’t you tell me? Surely, you’ve known for some time…” Martin trailed off. 

“Seventeen,” Malcolm answered. He had decided he should answer all of his dad’s questions straightforwardly and without emotion, so as to move on from the subject in a swift manner.

“It’s been four years, Malcolm!” his father exclaimed. He did not yell but his voice was raised enough for Malcolm to know he was upset with him. “Why?”

And that question had bothered Malcolm more than it should have. The hurt look in his father’s eyes. _How dare he look hurt as if he owes him this? He’s the one who’s been hurting, carrying this burden._ “Why? Are you seriously asking why?” he asked incredulously.

“Yes, my boy,” had been the response.

“It’s humiliating! You think I want people knowing I’m an omega? No one will ever take me seriously in the FBI. You think I want to be bossed around for the rest of my life? You think I want to stay at home carrying some alpha’s child? You think I want to have uncontrollable heats?”

“Malcolm… You’re joining the FBI?” his father questioned. Malcolm had forgotten he mentioned it in the adrenaline of it all. Well, at least he told him. 

“Yeah,” he said a little breathlessly. He didn’t know if he was relieved or hurt that it was the only part of the conversation he had focused on. 

“What would you do that for? They’re overpaid pricks who don’t do any real work themselves.” Martin’s eyebrows had been furrowed and he stared at Malcolm with a quiet but cutting menace. Malcolm knew the look. It was a look of disappointment. He had known the comment was directed toward his own experience with the people and not his son but it didn’t stop that feeling of hurt that had blossomed in his chest. 

“Malcolm, let’s talk about this. The FBI and being an omega,” his father said, while he slowly stepped forward. He had reached his hand out to place it on Malcolm’s shoulder but he quickly dodged it and stepped back. He didn’t want to be consoled like the omega he was. Malcolm suddenly realized he was inside the red line. He must’ve crossed it while he had gotten worked up. 

“And you! You’re the worst of it!” Malcolm almost regretted saying it after seeing the stab of pain on his father’s entire form. “You’re the reason I don’t want an alpha! They can easily manipulate me with my own biology. Just like you. I don’t want to be a weak omega! I don’t want to be a slave to my own body. Do you know how many times I’ve nested with your goddamn sweaters? How many times I’ve came dreaming about you?” He realized his mistake immediately and the horror had shown on his face. 

“My boy,” Martin murmured, while he reached out for his son again. Malcolm had been quicker though, and backed up far enough behind the red line. The thing that has haunted Malcolm all these years is not Martin’s disappointment over his career choice, contrary to the story he told his mom and Gil. The haunting image left in Malcolm's mind was the look on his father’s face as he backed to the door to bang on it. He had been expecting disgust, abhorrence, contempt, maybe even pity. Instead the look was the same look of amazement when Martin had learned his true designation. He was mesmerized; his eyes had raked his form up and down, as if seeing him for the first time. There had been a glint in his eye as a smile, slowly but surely, appeared on his face. A monster perplexed and, dare he say, _impressed_ with the other monster in the room. 

As Mr. David had opened the door, Martin's grin was no longer subtle but pronounced. Not shameful. Malcolm’s eyes were wide and he couldn’t get a decent breath in. Every time he had tried the dense flavor of alpha filled his senses. His father had always smelt good but never as good as when he had learned Malcolm’s secret. Firewood and a sterilized scalpel and cotton. He was paralyzed under his father’s heavy gaze. Mr. David eventually helped him through the door. After ten years he can still see his father’s eyes fluttering all over him, the shine of his million-dollar smile; he can still smell the burning firewood. 

  
  


When Malcolm knew he needed his father’s help with his copycat case, he was prepared to stay completely professional. No personal matters were of importance. If he allowed himself to consider their history, _their last meeting,_ he’d surely die from the embarrassment. Time had dulled the memory somewhat, made him think most of it was embellishment from his own anxious brain. The first time he smelled him again he realized it wasn’t. He really did smell that strong. He really did look at him like he was a prized possession. The only thing that had changed was Martin’s hair. He had grown it out more and the grey had overtaken him completely. Malcolm thought he liked his beard before but his current one made him want to take his fingers through it and maybe pull. A dangerous thought. He wondered if he also looked different in Martin’s eyes. 

Now, after several meetings, Malcolm can barely stand the tension anytime he visits Claremont. He can’t handle the ever increasing intensity of his dreams. The dreams from when he was seventeen, back again with a vengeance. It felt like the Martin in his dreams was making up for lost time. Every position Malcolm had ever heard of, every kink he had dared think of, they were all a part of his dreams since seeing his father again. The sex should be the jarring part of the dreams. It wasn’t.

The jarring part was the _cuddling. The soft-spoken words. The domesticity._ That was the unsettling part of his dreams. As a teenager, he had never dreamt of the man being anything but controlling, demeaning, and sensuous. He was used to that narrative already. The Martin who read him books in bed, kissed his bruised wrists every morning, let him borrow his sweaters, that was a new Martin. He was somehow scarier than serial killer Martin and sexy Martin. Because this Martin was the best dad a boy could wish for. The best alpha for any omega lucky enough to have him. 

It’s a day like any other. He visits his father, not to discuss a case but because he promised to see him twice a week after the stabbing incident. He had nothing to say to him but he knew just sitting there was enough to hold up his end of the deal. So he walks in and sits at the chair on his respective side of the red line. Martin is sitting at his desk, drawing something. He barely flinches when Malcolm enters the room. 

It shouldn’t annoy him but it does. Malcolm takes the time out of his day to visit him and he doesn’t even greet him? It was abnormal for the man. 

“Should I come back at another time, doctor?” he snaps. He doesn’t look up but continues sketching. 

“Anxious to spend more time with your old man, eh?” says Martin, nonchalantly. 

“Hardly,” he mumbles, crossing his arms. Martin finally turns toward him. 

“Is someone grumpy I’m not giving him attention? You know you used to sulk the same as a kid. Should’ve known you were an omega then.” And now Malcolm is really disturbed; he has to stand up and breathe. 

“I don’t need your attention. I’m a grown man,” he grits. Now Martin rolls on his chair towards the line. He stares up at Malcolm in the eye but somehow it still feels like he’s looking down on him from a pedestal. 

“I see you’re a grown man,” his eyes raking his form, “but you reek of omega.” It was said with no malice, only playfulness. Malcolm didn’t care much to use scent blockers when his father knew him anyways. Besides, he knew Martin would make a big deal over it if he did. Malcolm doesn’t respond, clearly holding himself back from anger. Evidently, it makes Martin want to push him more. 

“You still need daddy’s attention,” he purrs. Malcolm feels like a house of cards about to fall with one breath. “And you know I love to give it to you.”

He doesn’t even note the red line as he passes over it. Martin’s eyes follow him, dark with possession. He won’t make the first move towards him, his boy will have to beg for everything he’s about to do to him. 

Malcolm is beyond self-awareness as he rushes to his father, immediately grasping for him. He’s tearing off his prison uniform with vigor. 

“You waste no time, I see,” Martin chuckles. Malcolm can’t handle any teasing right now. He’s already strung tight. He decides he’s not even going to dignify him with a response. Without his shirt Malcolm forgets his objective and stares. Seeing his weighty belly and hairy chest satisfies some long-held desire in Malcolm. The last time he’d seen him without a shirt he was more fit and had no grey hair. He secretly adored his softening features over time. It made him look more human, not just a charming serial killer. And he liked knowing he was well-fed despite his living conditions. As Malcolm makes quick work of his pants he realizes he’s still fully dressed.

“Touch me,” he grits. 

“Now, now, is that any way to talk to your father?” he chides. 

“Please.”

“I thought you’d never ask, my boy,” says Martin, clearly self-satisfied. When they’re both done undressing each other Malcolm immediately sinks to his knees. He’s needy but many of his dreams centered on this particular act. Probably something about being submissive but he doesn’t have the head space to be mad at himself for it anymore. 

Martin’s cock is half hard. The one part of his father he had yet to see. He wasn’t disappointed by the thick girth or the prominent vein running down the middle. He takes it in his hand, relishing at the groan it elicits. He gives the head a small lick before popping the whole thing in his mouth. He moves down, letting most of his length sit on his tongue and he takes a moment to appreciate the velvety pressure, the presence of his father in his mouth. He stops delaying and takes him as far as he can, reaching just before the base. He bobs his head, stopping most times to swirl his tongue at the tip. He fondles his balls and looks up. He can tell Martin is holding back. That was unexpected. He moves his mouth off of him, only to be connected by a trail of saliva.

“Why are you holding back?” he asks.

“The last thing in this world I want to do is hurt you, Malcolm,” his father replies. He can see he means it. 

“Maybe I want you to hurt me.” They’re in an intense staring match before Malcolm pops his dad back into his mouth, redoubling his efforts with more force. Martin is groaning, slightly shifting his hips back and forth but not enough to make a real difference. Malcolm knows he has to say something to get his way.

“Are you an alpha or an omega?” he snarls. No alpha would take kindly to this disrespect and that’s exactly what Malcolm wants. 

“You want to be fucked like a whore? Is that what you want?” Martin growls. He already knows the answer so he gives him no time to respond before shoving his cock down his son’s throat, as deep as it will go. Malcolm focuses on breathing through his nose while he thrusts in and out, hard and fast. Who knew all the meditation and yoga would be put to such good use? The feeling of being used for his father’s pleasure causes a tingling feeling in his stomach. His cock is leaking. 

“Get up,” Martin orders. He leads Malcolm to his bed. He lets him lay down and notices the emerging bruises forming on his son’s knees. The concrete floor in the room was unforgiving. He places soft kisses on both knees. Malcolm shivers at the sensation. It’s like he just fell off his bike, crying for daddy to make it all better. Malcolm is hit with the realization he feels so safe at this moment. It doesn’t matter that anyone could walk through that door or that he’d be disowned should anyone else find out about this. Maybe that’s what having an alpha is about, feeling safe no matter the situation they found themselves in. 

Martin is on top of him, kissing his neck. He alternates between soft tender brushes and biting marks into his skin. “I want to kiss you,” Malcolm states. Martin moves down to find his lips and goes in. Malcolm is not surprised to learn his lips are as soft as they look. Soft like his hair and his stomach and his sweaters. It’s a nice contrast to the scruffy mustache and beard rubbing over his face.

When he feels the wet warmth of Martin’s tongue pressing into his own mouth he feels like melting. While they make-out Malcolm feels needy as he bucks up, trying to get some friction from his father’s thigh. 

“Sweet, little omega,” he hums in his ear. Malcolm all but whimpers. 

Martin places two fingers in front of his lips. “Open,” he commands. Malcolm sucks, locking his eyes with the man above him. Malcolm finds himself just as delighted as if it were Martin’s cock. His father’s hands were always soft and steady. They guided him countless times whether it was reading a book, skinning a deer, or playing a sport. He shuddered imagining both the healing and dying brought forth with these hands. He can’t remember ever being this turned on before. The thought scares him but not for the right reasons. He’s afraid this will never happen again. He’s also afraid it will. Martin removes his fingers and shifts his arm lower. 

Malcolm twitches when his index finger circles his rim. He sucks a breath in as Martin pushes it in, not even an inch. Martin is pressing kisses to his sweaty shoulder. Typical sociopaths shouldn’t be so caring but Malcolm can’t remember a time where his father wasn’t concerned with his comfort. He was always an exemplary caregiver, anyone’s perfect alpha. Malcolm tries to remind himself he’s only like that with him. This only adds to his pleasure as a second finger is suddenly applied, both as deep as they can go but not quite hitting that sweet spot. He feels weightless and it's not long before his third finger is inside. He was normally embarrassed by his own slick but the way Martin takes his fingers out and licks them makes him feel divine. The emptiness is replaced by the hot head of his dad’s cock. He keeps teasing him, rubbing it around and over his hole, covering it in slick. 

“Daddy,” he whines. He knows it gratifies Martin because he begins to push in. It burns but he doesn’t care. This isn’t a soft thing; it’s dirty and sinful. He wants it to hurt. The slow drag of the cock rubbing against his walls gives him more pleasure than pain though. He wants to feel every part of his father, every ridge and vein and pulse. He wished he were disgusted when he remembered this was the same penis that _he came out of_ but it only made him push down more. 

“So tight for your alpha,” Martin groans, “ _God,_ Malcolm.” He bottoms out and Malcolm is writhing in pleasure. He pulls out half way just to slide back in. Martin is already hitting his prostate; he knows he can’t last long. He reaches down for his own dick but Martin stops him.

“I’m the only one touching you tonight. I want you all to myself,” Martin pants. He starts rubbing Malcolm’s nipples, assuring him he will provide anything he needs. Malcolm feels sensitive and gooey.

“Go faster. I want to feel you, dad. All of you,” he pleads. He internally cringes at how desperate he sounds. Martin understands his wishes and pulls all the way out. Malcolm is beginning to whine when Martin pushes the breath out of him. He goes harder, faster, deeper. Malcolm doesn’t just feel full; he feels whole. Each time his father’s member hits his prostate lightning bolts of pleasure sear up to his skull. Martin grabs Malcolm in hand, stroking him in time with his thrusts. 

“You’re doing so well, my boy. My sweet, sweet boy. You’re so beautiful like this,” Martin breathes. The praise pushes him over the edge. As Malcolm is cumming he feels his brain go silent. It doesn't happen often, if ever. There’s no anxious voice giving him feedback, there’s no analytical profiling going on beneath his forehead, there’s no girl in the box. It’s him in the present moment with his father. He’s warm all over and floating. He feels Martin’s movements become spasmodic. He starts to feel Martin’s knot beginning to swell right as he abruptly pulls out.

“I want it. I want your knot,” he begs. Martin looks genuinely surprised, searching his son’s eyes. “Please, daddy.”

He knows he’s being sincere because the boy isn’t in heat. He pushes back in letting his knot catch on Malcolm. Malcolm screams, not sure if it’s from pain or pleasure. Normally his brain would remind him to be quiet so no one checks in on them but he’s still mushy. The feeling of his father’s cum flowing inside him is more erotic than expected. He likes knowing a part of Martin will stay inside him. He wants to feel him days later while he’s sitting at his desk in the precinct. Gil and Dani and J.T talking to him, having no idea his father’s spend is inside him. It’s a devious thought. 

They lay connected together on the small bed, letting their breaths slowly fade back to normal. Malcolm digs his fingers into Martin’s beard, something he’s wanted to do since he first saw him again. He pulls softy, relishing in the scratchy sensation. 

“I can’t wait to have you ride me,” Martin says. The admission surprises Malcolm and he moves his gaze from his beard to his eyes. There’s a look of pure adoration in them. _He wants to do this again?_

“Bite me,” Malcolm demands, surprised by his own gumption. His father frowns.

“That is a serious decision, Malcolm. I don’t want you to resent me.”

“It’s only ever been you, Martin. There’s no one else.” He swallows. “I want to be your omega.” Martin knows that was a hard thing for Malcolm to divulge. He hadn’t stopped fighting his designation until this moment. While Martin considers this his cock slips out of Malcolm. Malcolm whimpers at the feeling and brings his hand to his hole, gathering some of the cum beginning to drip from him. He sucks it in his mouth, savoring the same flavor of firewood and hospitals and cotton. His alpha’s flavor. Martin groans. 

He bites Malcolm’s juncture and Malcolm almost feels like he’s having another orgasm, the feeling is so bright and intense. He becomes hyper aware of his presence next to him. Martin feels like a heavy weight settled on his chest. It’s not suffocating; it’s grounding. He’s never felt so tethered to reality or to another person. Martin kisses his forehead and brushes his hair with his fingers. He falls asleep like that, cuddled into his father’s side.

**Author's Note:**

> Michael Sheen's beard makes me feel some type of way


End file.
